by Marinelli, Carol; Hayward, Jennifer; Stephens, Susan; Anderson, Natalie
* * *
The yard at Cherry Hill was a beehive of activity as Cecily pulled the car into the parking lot.
She sat in the car and watched it all flow by, fear gripping her bones. What if Alejandro hated her for doing this to him? What if he didn’t want to marry her now?
Paralyzed, she sat there until the wedding planner, Mariana, flew by in a panic. Pulse pounding in her throat, she stepped from the car.
The morning sunlight lit the façade of the main barn. Her vision come to life. But there was something new—a sign the crew had affixed above the main doors.
Hargrove-Salazar.
A knot tied itself in her throat. Her feet moved without conscious decision, carrying her through the massive mahogany doors. The whicker of a horse greeted her, then a frenzied whinny and a stamping of feet.
Bacchus. She flew across the cobblestoned floor, fumbled with the latch on the door of his box and stepped inside, throwing her arms around his neck.
Had her father relented?
Deciding he’d received enough love, Bacchus nuzzled her pockets. She laughed. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any right now.”
“There’s a box of your scary-looking American cereal in the feed room,” Alejandro said quietly.
Her heart thumped against her chest. She turned to find him standing outside Bacchus’s box. He looked so gorgeous in dark jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair mussed beyond redemption, she ached to throw herself in his arms. But she didn’t because he also looked mad. Furious.
“I was coming to see you.”
“And you left it until now?” He shook his head, fire lighting his eyes. “You left the ball in my court, Cecily. How the hell was I supposed to respond if I couldn’t find you?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, stomach sinking. “I needed time to think. You are a force of nature. I was worried if I let you in, you would steamroll me into making a decision I wasn’t ready to make.”
He rested a palm against the stall door. “So have you?”
She stepped out of the box and latched the door. Braved all that suppressed male fury as she stepped into his space. “Yes,” she said, lifting her gaze to his. “I love you, Alejandro. We are going to find a way to make this work.”
A flicker of something in those dark eyes—the faintest softening she hoped might be a positive sign. He caught her hand in his and tugged her closer until all she could feel was the heat vibrating from him.
“I have some things to say to you too,” he said huskily, eyes on hers. “First of all, I let you down, Cecily. I promised you I would always be there for you—that I would make this right and I didn’t. That will never happen again.
“Secondly, Adriana went to Kentucky to see your father. It’s over, this feud between the Salazars and the Hargroves. Your father and Kay are here for the wedding.”
Her father was here? Adriana had gone to Kentucky? Her head spun. “What happened between them?”
“I have no idea and I don’t care. Thirdly,” he said eyes on hers, “I chose you the night I crossed the line and made love to you at Esmerelda. I chose you when I asked you to marry me. I chose you the night you gave me that damn speech about unconditional love.” He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “You break my heart, querida. You always have.”
Her breath caught in her chest. “What are you saying?”
“That I love you. I fell in love with you that night in Belgium, Cecily. That’s why I pulled away. Because nothing good in my life has ever lasted. I couldn’t stand for that to happen to us.”
Her heart leaped in her chest. “It won’t,” she said fiercely, cupping his jaw in her hands. “What we have is special, Alejandro. Powerful. Look what we’ve done…we’ve ended the longest-running feud in equine history.”
A smile curved his lips. “I want to chase this dream with you,” he said softly. “I want that unconditional love you talked about. But I am not perfect. I’m going to have my moments. Which doesn’t mean I won’t always be there for you because I will.”
That completely undid her. Throat too thick to speak, she grabbed a handful of his shirt, stood on tiptoe and kissed him—a sweet, shimmering, soul affirming kiss that promised forever.
The hint of uncertainty in his eyes as he drew back made her frown. “What is it?”
“I thought I might have ruined it.”
She melted. “You can’t ruin love, Alejandro. It just is.”
It wasn’t something he was going to accept overnight. It was going to take time. Luckily she had the rest of her life to prove it to him.
* * *
The afternoon dawned a picture-perfect, unseasonably warm, fall day in the Catskills—as if some higher power had decided Cecily and Alejandro had already defeated enough of the elements and today was reserved for the bright, shiny future they would have.
Her elegant chignon in place, the stylist slipped Cecily’s romantic, spaghetti-strapped, ballerina-style dress over her head, the gown settling over her hips in a whoosh of silk. With its elaborate, scalloped bodice, plunging back and floral embroidered lace overlay, the only adornment required were her mother’s drop sapphire earrings.
That final grounding element in place, she descended the central staircase of the ranch house to where her father stood waiting at the bottom.
A flash of emotion stained his gray eyes as she took his arm. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
He frowned. “Cecily—”
She shook her head. “This is the beginning of a new chapter, Daddy. We decide where it goes from here.”
He was silent for a moment, then nodded, walking her outside into the sunshine.
Somehow Alejandro had managed to keep the hordes of photographers circling the estate via helicopter away from the private affair they had wanted it to be. Cecily ignored the distraction as she entered the garden on her father’s arm, the fall blooms a riot of red and gold around them. Her focus was firmly on the man who waited for her at the end of the aisle, a look of pure possession on his face.
Alejandro’s three groomsmen, Stavros, Antonio and Sebastien all looked devastatingly handsome in dark suits and silver ties, but Alejandro was the only man who would ever make her heart beat this way—as if her whole world revolved around him.
* * *
Stavros gave a low whistle, eyes on Alejandro’s bride. “Well I’d say she’s worth the merry tune she has you dancing.”
Antonio eyed him. “And you aren’t dancing one yourself?”
Stavros lifted a shoulder as if to concede the point since everyone knew he was mad about his so called ‘convenient wife’. “Salazar, however, is love struck.”
Well, yes he was. But Alejandro wasn’t fighting it anymore. Not when he’d almost lost the woman who had come to mean everything to him. He kept his eyes on Cecily as she negotiated the long row of seats on her father’s arm to the strains of a classical Bach piece. And then suddenly she was there by his side, her father giving her away.
He brushed a kiss against her cheek. “You okay?” he murmured. “You look very focused.”
Her lips curved in a winsome smile. “Yes.”
“Marry me then.”
And so she did.
* * *
“Well that’s the last man down,” Stavros concluded, saluting Alejandro with his beer as the barn party moved into full swing. “You must be feeling good about yourself,” he said to Sebastien.
The Englishman lifted a shoulder. “It’s good to see you three happy.”
“A toast then,” Alejandro said, tipping his glass toward Sadie, Calli, Monika and Cecily who looked up to no good whispering at one of the tables. “To the women in our lives and our luck in finding them.”
The men lifted their glasses in a salute and drank, all of them, Al
ejandro was sure, aware of how lucky they were.
“Apologies,” Stavros said to Sebastien when he’d lowered his glass, “that Alejandro and I can’t make the press conference on Monday. It’s an admirable thing you’re doing, Sebastien, giving away half your net worth.”
“You’re forgiven,” Sebastien allowed, “since I’ve put you all on the Rapid Response board of directors.”
“Oh, no,” said Stavros, lifting his hands. “No bandwidth here.”
“Me neither,” said Alejandro.
Antonio frowned. “Yeah, I—”
“Excuse me.” Mariana arrived to pluck Alejandro out of the group for the first dance. “I need him.”
“Saved by the wedding planner,” said Stavros.
* * *
“You have no capacity for that,” Cecily observed as they waited for the band—their band from that night in Kentucky—to finish up the upbeat tune they were playing. “You have no time as it is. We’re having a baby.”
“I know,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers. “But Sebastien tends to get what Sebastien wants.”
The band introduced them to the crowd with a flourish. Cecily took Alejandro’s hand and they walked onto the dance floor under the sparkling Murano chandeliers. A hand laced through his, the other on his shoulder, her head tucked under his chin, they danced to the same ballad they had that night in Kentucky.
Time fell away and suddenly she was back under that star-filled sky, dancing with the man she’d fallen madly in love with. Except this time, it wasn’t just for one night—it was for forever.
“Alejandro,” she murmured.
“Mmm?”
“It’s not my song anymore. I got everything I wanted. Well,” she added, a wistful note to her voice, “almost everything.”
He leaned down to kiss her. “You will have that too. Remember the rule?”
An unshakeable vision.
EPILOGUE
World Championships of Show Jumping, Normandy, France.
VIRGINIA NELISSEN GALLOPED out of the stadium having compiled four faults in a lightning-fast round that had the Dutch team sitting in first place with only the last American rider to go.
“Boo,” said Alejandro to his eighteen-month-old daughter, Zara Rose, sitting on his lap with a front row seat to the action. “We don’t like her. She was mean to Mama.”
“Boo,” said Zara, imitating his scowl.
“Excelente,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Now,” he whispered as Cecily cantered into the ring, “you have to cheer for team Hargrove-Salazar. Because this is going to make history.”
“Salazar-Hargrove,” Adriana corrected tartly. “And I really don’t like how nervous Cecily is. She was wrapping enough fences in the warm up to bring the whole course down.”
Because this was his wife’s dream. Because ever since her return to riding she’d been anchoring the American team on Socrates and been brilliant while doing it.
If there was pressure here today, it was on the woman riding into the ring, hair caught up in a sleek chignon beneath her velvet helmet, navy coat and crisp white shirt perfectly pressed. But if there was anything he knew about his wife by now, it was that she was a fighter. A survivor. She would leave it all in the ring today.
Cecily brought Socrates to a halt in front of the judges and took off her hat in a salute. The applause and buzz of the crowd died down until you could hear a pin drop in the stadium. And then there was only the sound of Socrates’s hooves pounding the sand as Cecily pushed him into an easy canter with a touch of her heels to his sides.
His smooth, glorious stride ate up the ground as Cecily guided him to the first jump, a high, complicated juxtaposition of poles Socrates eyed as unfamiliar then proceeded to rap hard as he cleared it.
Not an auspicious start. Adriana was right—both rider and horse were nervous.
An easy turn to the next jump and Socrates was taking off too late, clearing the jump by the skin of his teeth, then roaring toward the next, where Cecily placed him at the jump too early, forcing him to exert a superhuman effort to make it to the other side unscathed.
“Lord have mercy,” said his grandmother, covering her eyes. “I can’t watch.”
A nice long gallop to the next oxer, he watched Cecily visibly collect herself and her horse. Good. They cleared the wide, imposing jump with perfect form. Then it was a quick turn to the triple combination that had felled every single rider thus far including Virginia, the jumps trickily placed off-stride to test the riders.
Cecily attacked it with military precision, placing Socrates perfectly for the first jump, then sailing over the next two with shortened strides that efficiently addressed the challenge.
His wife glanced at the clock with four jumps to go. She was close to time faults. She needed to avoid them and go clear for the American team to win. His stomach dropped as Cecily whipped Socrates around at a near suicidal angle and galloped toward the next combination at a speed that made Adriana gasp.
“Dear God,” she said. “That’s a bad call—that’s—”
Socrates whipped over the first jump, galloped flat out toward the second and annihilated it too.
“—brilliant,” said his grandmother.
She’s retiring, thought Alejandro.
A sharp turn to the right and his wife was thundering toward the last jump. The crowd was on its feet now, caught up in the gutsy ride, its home team already out of it.
One more jump, Alejandro whispered. One more jump, angel, you can do it.
And then she did.
* * *
Cecily rode into the collecting ring where the media was assembled for the post competition interviews.
She had nothing left for them. Had gone through every facet of the emotional spectrum out there on that course, her mother’s riding pin attached to her chest. When she caught sight of Alejandro waiting for her, Zara in his arms, a sob rose to her throat.
Her husband set Zara down. Cecily kicked her feet out of the stirrups and slid off Socrates’s back and into his arms—the man who had never failed to catch her each and every time she’d stumbled over the past year: as she’d become a new mother, as she’d resumed her career, as she’d walked the tenuous road of balancing both.
Alejandro cupped her jaw and kissed her. “No tears, meu carinho. You were magnificent. Your mother would be so proud.”
The tears came then in a great big flood. For the things she’d lost. For the things she’d gained. For what was still ahead.
A reporter from an American sports network descended on them, noting Adriana’s legendary presence. “Perfect. Can I have an interview with the complete team Hargrove-Salazar then?”
“Team Salazar-Hargrove,” Adriana corrected. “And yes you may.”
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781459293069
Salazar’s One-Night Heir
Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Drogell
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